Come Home
by m.march
Summary: "Come home," he said. "I know you'll be okay out here on your own. I know you won't freeze to death or get mugged or murdered. I know you'll survive wherever you go. But I'd really like it if you came home." Nightwing finds Cassandra Cain in Bludhaven and takes her in, unintentionally starting a strange sexually-tense relationship with the other hero. Romantic BlackNight.


Disclaimer: I have no ownership of DC. At all.

Warnings: Mention of rape and trauma. Kinda AU as it's far from canon.

 **This is a BlackNight fic. Black Bat + Nightwing. I don't know if there's much of a call for these but I'm obsessed so lets see if I can persuade anyone else to ship it with me!**

* * *

Dick Grayson walked from the bright, though frosty, morning into the dark depths of a warehouse that had been half-demolished and abandoned last spring. It was full of homeless people looking for shelter and druggies looking for someplace to score. He shot a raised brow at a drug dealer he'd arrested last month. The woman balked and turned on her heel, disappearing around a corner.

He wasn't there on police business though. He wasn't even there on hero business. He supposed, if it could be called anything, it was family business.

He'd heard rumors of a girl beating up thugs in the slums of Bludhaven and he even caught a glimpse of her last night when Nightwing was doing his rounds. She was a shadow, summersaulting off a building and vanishing into the night. But he knew her silhouette.

He ducked through a hole in a brick wall and into a catacomb of tents, tarps, sleeping bags and trashcan fires. He skimmed the options. The best spots would be the ones that gave her a vantage point, some sense of safety and solitude, high up in the corners or near an escape. He eyed the spots but suspected he wouldn't find her there. Too easy. That's where someone would look for her.

He started walking through the aisles of people and makeshift shelters. A dog barked at him, snapping teeth and pulling at a cable turned into a leash.

He followed the most stable looking wall, considering the residents until he found a nice spot wedged between the cardboard towers of one very permanent looking neighbor and the overturned shopping carts piled on the other side. It might look like she'd trapped herself between the two, but he could see her easily using both sides if she needed to. She could cause a cave in and wiggle her way right up the rough brick wall.

Grayson tipped his head to the side to look into that narrow space. A green jacket with the hood drawn up, black skinny jeans and ankle boots, legs tucked in and body curled. "I know you're not asleep anymore," he said.

She didn't move, at first, but he waited. Her knees pulled up and her body twisted to follow, sitting upright to look at him from her shadow. "What do you want?" Cassandra Cain asked quietly, voice even and cold just like he remembered. She'd been a brutal sidekick, but it hadn't suited her. She was a force of nature.

"I want breakfast, but I'm here seeing if you'll join me."

Her boots shifted on the dirty ground, hesitating.

She'd never been one for talking. He'd learned to read her quickly. "Seriously, I'm hungry, at least walk with me," he continued.

She was still for a second longer before sliding easily to her feet, hands still deep in the pockets of her jacket. She stepped out of her spot, and he realized she had a bag on her shoulder. It was probably her suit and too many knives to be legal. She stood in front of him and Dick reached out, gently pushing back the woman's hood. She could be mistaken for a girl in the night, but she hadn't been a child for a long time—really, maybe never.

Her dark eyes turned up to meet his blues, her black hair cut short to her jawline. The ghost of a scar marked the edge of her mouth and another glimmered across her temple. They weren't easy to see unless you stood close—and few stood close without fighting for their lives. "Still rocking this hero-by-night-Oliver Twist-by-day thing, I see."

The side of her mouth pinched. "I don't know what that means."

Grayson smiled. "You look good."

She made no expressions this time. He'd found her lack of responses unnerving—even infuriating—when she was batgirl. Their relationship had been uncomfortable from the beginning. They'd been on opposite sides of every spectrum imaginable: personality, rationality, morality. He supposed that last one was harsh—even as a thought. She'd proven herself to be a hero, even if she didn't always think like one.

He walked out of the warehouse and she followed, close behind, not that he'd be able to tell if he weren't keeping an eye on her. She never made any sounds when she moved.

When they came to the front of the line in the bagel shop down the street, Dick was quick to order. He'd been here before and he wasn't lying about being hungry. He craned his head toward Cassandra. "What are you having?"

She blinked at him—no sign of interest or disinterest—until she gave a little shake of her head at last.

Since he couldn't be 100% sure she wasn't declining because she didn't have any money, he doubled his order, took their number slip, and found them a table.

Her bag sounded surprisingly heavy when she put it down beside her boot.

"So, where have you been?" Grayson was more than ready to pull a one-sided conversation but he'd at least try some questions.

"Europe."

Vague… "Why are you in Bludhaven?" No need to beat around the bush with her.

Those dark eyes studied him. "Should I leave?"

"Do you have a reason to stay?"

Their number was called. He sat until it was called again and then rose, grabbed their tray, smiled at the guy behind the counter, and returned with their food. He'd half expected Black Bat to vanish. She hadn't. He put the tray down and set a bottle of water and a toasted bagel sandwich in front of her before starting on his own.

"I'm between enemies," she said and it sounded like a sort of confession. Did not having an enemy make her uncomfortable? "I didn't know where to go." That was definitely a confession.

"Why not Gotham?" he asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.

She shrugged.

"Are you on the outs with him again?" He couldn't exactly say Batman here and somehow Bruce felt strange in this context.

She shook her head, looking at her sandwich.

"Are you in trouble?" Nightwing asked.

She shot him a funny look, with a raised brow and a scrunched half-smile.

Dick laughed. "Yeah. Okay. But it's going to be winter soon. You might not want to vacation on the streets of Bludhaven."

Cassandra nodded once, picked up the top slice of her bagel sandwich and started eating it. It was hard not to comment. "I can leave today."

His head jerked up, blue eyes flaring. "That's not what I meant. I'm not kicking you out."

She looked mildly skeptical, which for her was a lot, but kept eating.

"But you can't stay outside. It's almost winter," Grayson went on. Where was he going with this?

"I'm hibernating," she said blandly, uncapping her water bottle.

"I never know if you're joking," he admitted.

She glanced up at him, dark eyes peering through messy dark hair. "I never am."

He sighed. "I was worried about that."

They fell into silence again and he watched her eat the rest of the bagel and egg like an open-faced sandwich. She was going to leave town after this meal. He'd made her uncomfortable. Why did he do this? "My apartment isn't big, but you could stay with me while you're in town," he said.

She paused while chewing, only for a second, and then continued.

"It's a really shitty part of town, you'd love it. Having you there while I'm at work might actually keep it from being broken into and I've set up a gym in the basement for training. Could be good to have someone to spar with." He'd always been good at rambling. He could fill all her silences.

Cassandra nodded once and finished her sandwich.

* * *

"Wait. Wait. She's at your house?" Wally almost stopped walking, a real sign of surprise for him.

"Yeah. Has been all week," Grayson explained, again. He hadn't really expected her to stay this long, maybe that's why he hadn't thought to tell anyone. A part of him had expected her to vanish, but it would be a boldfaced lie to say he wasn't relieved every day she didn't. Why? Was he that starved for company? She barely spoke, but sometimes he made her smile. They trained together every day and he was sure it was the best workouts either of them had had in months. He even saw her out in the night as Black Bat. They didn't exactly stalk together but they crossed paths.

Wally let out a peel of laughter. "Is this some kind of rebound thing?"

It was Dick's turn to blink, almost losing his stride. "What?" His forehead pinched, hands curling into fists inside his jacket pockets. "Starfire took off ages ago," he mumbled.

"Sure…" Wally gave with a shrug. "Plus, creepy Cassandra wouldn't exactly make anyone jealous. Probably just make Starfire worried you'd lost your mind."

His arm swung out, whacking his friend's shoulder. "Knock it off. She's not creepy and she's not a rebound."

Wally raised his eyebrow, looking back at him with a funny smile. "But she _is_ something?"

Grayson shrugged, this time to make his friend's eyes bulge. No, it wasn't something. It wasn't anything but a strange sort of familiarity. He'd wanted to explain it to him, to have someone understand it, but he realized that wasn't going to happen. So, the next best thing, was to get him riled up.

By the time he left Wally and headed home, the sun was going down and his friend had been raving about Dick's safety in a relationship with Black Bat—certain that the woman would probably kill him, either on purpose or in her sleep.

Dick went to unlock his apartment door but it was already unlocked. He opened it, spotted her battered canvas backpack in the corner and felt the muscles in his shoulders relax. Why did he worry so much about her leaving? She would eventually.

He shrugged out of his jacket, dumping it over the back of the couch. She'd slept there the first week, usually during the day while he worked. But sometimes she was back in the house and out of her suit before he came home from being Nightwing. Sometimes they ate together and he wheedled conversation out of her. And then he'd come home one night to find her asleep on his bed.

He stood there in the dark for a long time, watching her sleep in the city lights seeping in through the window. They flashed her skin in neon. She was all lean muscle, bruises, and scars just like him. Her eyes had opened and he hadn't even startled to be caught staring. She scooted over on the bed and he climbed in like they'd lived together for years.

Today, he saw her standing in the bathroom, the door open. "Did you eat yet?" he asked, walking over to lean against the frame.

"No," she answered, standing barefoot on the tiles and using a pair of scissors to cut at her long black hair.

"Taking up a new profession?" he asked with a smile.

She met his gaze in the mirror, pausing for a second before snipping her way through another chunk of hair, dropping the black strands to the floor. "It's in the way," she explained simply.

Nightwing nodded once. He remembered her chopping it off sometimes when she was younger. He reached out, fingers wiggling but body not moving from where he leaned against the frame until she stopped cutting and held back the scissors for him to take. He took them in one hand and reached up with the other, fingers sliding through her hair to shake out the strands, combing them with his digits to get a look at the mess she'd made.

She stayed still while he cut her hair and he felt her gaze in the mirror, watching him, unabashed and never apologetic. She just watched and he pretended not to notice, not to wonder what she thought. He took his time. Was it because he liked being close to her? Or did he like the way her stare made his nerves stand on end?

When he finished he nodded, gave the top of her head one last tussle and stepped back. "Good enough?"

She didn't look at her reflection, but he caught her gaze this time, still watching him. She gave a little hum of approval, looked down at the hair scattered across the floor and her shirt, and then peeled her top off.

Grayson almost dropped the scissors, all poise lost for a second when she stripped down. She did that sometimes. Like it was no big deal. He let out a laugh, taking a step back and out of the bathroom while she walked into the corner shower. "I'm gonna go train…" he muttered, turning and tossing the scissors down on the table before grabbing his training gear from the closet and leaving the apartment just as the shower turned on.

He'd remodeled the abandoned basement of the building, adding a reinforced steal door hidden behind a wall of old boxes and a code lock to keep others out. The large open floor was matted thinly, just enough to pad the concrete floor beneath. Rings hung from the ceiling, old gymnastic equipment along the back wall and punching bags along the right.

He had trouble focusing tonight but that didn't stop him. He'd changed into his Nightwing suit and set out to break in a new punching bag. He was halfway through the training session he'd structured in his mind when the door opened and she joined him. She trained on her own at first but that gaze kept sliding to him, running over his skin like seeking fingers. He didn't go near her. If he thought she was flirting, he was probably losing his mind and she'd likely cut out his kidney if he pressed it.

And then she was there, in front of him. She caught his gaze, paused for a second, and then attacked. It was just slow enough at first to let him know this was training—this was play—this wasn't a real threat. Was that something she'd learned long ago or did she think he considered her an enemy?

They sparred. What started off testing grew to a speed of parried violence that bordered on wild. They weren't superhumans, but they beat them often enough. His pulse raced, his muscles burned, his mind reeled to stay two moves ahead. This might have been the best part about having her as a guest. He wasn't sure he'd ever trained like this before.

She tried to knock him down, to use his height against him. It had worked last time they sparred. This time he was ready. He locked on to her arm, twirled her hard and caught her ankle with his shin, pushing her to the ground. Her teeth clicked, he heard them, her body twisting in those milliseconds so far that he was sure her shoulder would pop from the socket. She managed to latch on to him with her other arm and drag him down with her. He inhaled sharply, not sure what to be more worried about—his own safety or hers. They both hit the floor, but she didn't hesitate. Her hips bucked up against his, knuckles bruising his ribs and heels digging into the floor under herself to turn him over.

Suddenly she was on top of him, sitting on his chest. She stared down at him and in her dark eyes he saw that their game had ended. She would have put a knife to his throat now if this was a real fight. She would have won. They both panted but, to his surprise, she didn't get up.

He pushed his elbows up into the floor and lifted his head and shoulders, half sitting up to see if she would move. She slid down his chest, straddling his waist and watching him. He was about to ask why when she finally moved. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his mouth, her eyes closing. For a second the kiss was soft, unsure maybe? And then he opened his mouth and she devoured him.

Her hands slipped into the back of his hair, one cradling his head while the other traced his spine down his neck before sliding over his shoulder, seeming to explore and study the feel of him all while they kissed. They hadn't even caught their breaths from sparring and now they were suffocating on one another, neither willing to choose life over that kiss for a long while. And then suddenly her little weight was off his chest, her mouth gone, her touch a memory, and he watched her walk out of the training room and disappear through the door.

When he came upstairs again, she was gone—but her bag was still in the corner. He showered, sure she'd come home. When she did, she slept on the couch again.

* * *

Two weeks later, Dick was sitting across from Wally in a coffee shop trying to explain what he didn't really understand himself.

"Okay…" Wally said slowly, a pile of paper wrappers in front of him from the six muffin's he'd just eaten. "So… Are you…dating?"

"No. Definitely not dating," Dick said, sounding sure at first but face pinching after he said it. "I mean, we don't go on dates."

"But…you do other stuff?"

"…Yeah," he said quietly. She was back to sleeping in his bed. Sometimes sparring turned into making out but she always ended it abruptly and took off. He wasn't sure if she wanted him to chase her and he wouldn't chase if he wasn't sure. What if she really just wanted to leave? "I just don't know what we're doing."

Wally let out a laugh that got them a couple of sharp looks from other guests of the café. "I think you've been with enough women by now to know what you're doing…"

Grayson rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee. "No. I just don't know what this is."

Wally looked a little more serious, dropping his voice lower. "But, whatever it is, you're interested?"

He paused for a second and then nodded and took another sip of his coffee. He was interested. He was more than interested. The other day he'd come home after a night jumping between rooftops and leaving car thieves dangling from lampposts for the beat cops. He'd been first to return, first to strip down and shower. He hadn't been able to stop thinking of her—of all the times she watched him and those times she kissed him. She always made the first move. She was always in control. Was that what was so thrilling about her stare? Was she hunting him? He'd started touching himself, stroking himself while he leaned under the hot spray of the shower. He froze when he realized she was in the room, a tingling down his spine—not a sound that betrayed her. He turned slowly, pivoting away from the spray of the shower to find her standing there in the doorway of the bathroom. She didn't move, mask gone and still wearing her Black Bat suit. She ran her gaze over him, lingering on where his hand held his sex and then her dark eyes flickered back up to his face, waiting. Waiting.

He stared back at her, slid a step back to lean against the tile wall with the water raining down on his side, and started stroking himself again. She watched—just watched—didn't move to join him or wrinkle her nose or blush or leave. She just watched. When he moaned, her mouth opened just a little, eyes flared slightly. Was that the only sign of her approval? Of her arousal?

She'd watched until he finished, only a small shift in her lean body to indicate anything out of the ordinary before she slipped away. She slept on the couch that night.

Grayson stared down at his coffee cup. He couldn't explain any of this to Wally. It wasn't that he was embarrassed. He wouldn't mind exposing his own part of these interactions. He just wasn't sure if it would be a breech in her trust if he did. Did she even trust him? Was that a part of this at all?

"You should talk to her," Wally said.

Dick smiled, expecting a joke but when he looked up, his best friend looked completely serious.

"She's straightforward, right? Just ask." His mouth pulled into a wide grin. "One grunt for yes, two for no?"

By the time Dick headed home that day, he was decided. He'd just have to ask her what was going on. He came home, heard the shower on and saw her clothes tossed on a pile on top of her canvas bag. He hung up his jacket, got a water from the fridge, and sat down on the couch. He was going to ask her, straight up, what she wanted and what this was. He was going to do it.

She walked out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam behind her, her wet hair clinging to her cheek and neck. One of his tanktops hung on her narrow frame, sticking to wet skin, the shape of her small breasts visible through the thin blue cotton. Bruises colored her ribs and he caught the gleam of claw scars across her back. He never liked that she got hurt but he never worried either. It would have been hypocritical. He had a body to match hers. She tossed her towel onto the floor, naked legs with more bruises and scars, panties hugging her hips. Her gaze pinned him where he was on the couch and he forgot any plan to put their relationship into words.

He put his bottle of water down on the table. She walked toward him. Grayson held his breath. Her shins touched his, body standing over him, head cocking to the side as she looked him over. He would have endured days of torture just to know what she was thinking when she looked at him like that. And then she slid onto the couch, straddling his waist, sitting in his lap and sliding her hands into his hair. She tugged, dragging his head back, arching his neck and putting his mouth under hers. For long seconds he waited for her to kiss him, desperate for it, while she held them in stillness, and then that moment of maybe broke and they were making out again. This was the first time it had happened in the apartment rather than the training room.

Her hips rolled down against his waist and he bucked up against her. His fingertips found the backs of her thighs, her muscles jumping under them when he roamed—the touch slow and careful compared to the feverish attack her lips. Her own hands pulled at his shirt, finally breaking the kiss just long enough to strip the fabric from him before sealing her lips to his again. He moaned, hips lifting to push his arousal up against her and she pushed down in return. Her breath came with little sounds now, something small and guttural from inside her chest, something she didn't quite have control over.

His hands moved up her sides, under her shirt, formerly his shirt. He lifted her just a little and turned, toppling them down onto the couch, her legs still around his waist but her back to the cushions now with him on top. Her pulse hammered against the calloused pads of his thumbs, in that warm spot just under the curve of her breasts.

The cold metal of a knife pressed against his neck. The kissing had stopped. The rubbing and moaning and passion had ended all at once. He opened his eyes, already sitting up, already taking his hands off of her and holding them up as though she had a gun rather than a small blade. Where had she kept that? It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered now was that look in her dark eyes. It was near unreadable. Confused? Surprised?

"Cas…" he started, voice still husky and mouth swollen from her kiss.

She slid off the couch with endless elegance, palming the knife. If vanished. She took backward steps from him, watching him. But she didn't look angry or scared. She just looked… unhappy. "I'm sorry," was all she said before snatching up her bag and taking off.

He couldn't stop her. He wouldn't dare.

* * *

She didn't come back the next day. He'd gone over the moment that changed everything a hundred times. He'd gone over all of their moments.

Finally, in the early morning of the fifth day since she left, Grayson went out looking for her. She hides well, but he knows her and Bludhaven as best as any man can.

It was snowing, gathering quickly on the streets. He didn't find her until the afternoon, a part of him starting to worry she'd really taken off. If she left Bludhaven and Gotham, he doubted he'd ever find her—not until she came back anyway.

She'd barely said anything in the weeks they'd lived together and yet, his apartment had been unbearably quiet without her. He missed her heartbeat. Her existence.

He found her on the subway. He would never know if she was on the move around the city today or if she had found a place to stay and was going to or from it. It didn't matter. He sat down next to her.

"Come home," he said.

She blinked at him—at the word, home, falling from his mouth like it was theirs.

Grayson sighed, tired. "I know you'll be okay out here on your own. I know you won't freeze to death or get mugged or murdered. I know you'll survive wherever you go. But I'd really like it if you came home."

She didn't say anything. He hadn't expected her to. But when the subway pulled in to the station nearest his apartment, she stood up. He smiled a little and followed her out of the car and through the busy station. They walked home together, their steps silent in a world of harsh sounds, their bodies agile and shifting through crowds with ease. They were the same in so many ways but different in all the others.

"Can we talk about it?" he asked when they were inside the apartment, her bag dropped into its usual corner.

Her shoulders sagged and she went to the fridge.

Grayson took that as an OK and perched on one of the barstools, the island between them, for the first time ever afraid of intimidating her. It still didn't sound right, didn't match up to the woman he knew, but that look on her face when she'd held a knife to his throat still haunted him. "Is it a fetish or were you scared?" He went for bluntness. It was usually the best way with her.

She paused, still in the glow of the refrigerator. Was she unsure or did she not understand? She'd been okay on the couch until he'd flipped them over. "Did you want to be in control?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you pulled a knife?"

She hesitated, expression tugging in something of a flinch. "No."

He sighed. "Cas, this is one of those times when I need you to use all of your words and explain it to me. I need to know what you want. I need to know what we're doing. I don't mind the way we were doing things. I liked it. But I need to hear from you, at least once, what this is."

"I can't," she said.

He groaned, ready to drop his forehead to the surface of the counter.

"I can't do this," she continued, and he looked up at her. She closed the refrigerator without taking anything out. "I didn't know what I was doing. I just…wanted you," she said, each word grinding out uncomfortably. "I've never wanted like that."

Grayson was quiet for a long time, wondering if she'd keep speaking, but she didn't. She just stood there, profile to him, staring grimly at the refrigerator door. "You've never had sex?" he asked.

She turned, brow pulling up under the mess of her hair. "Of course, I have."

He blinked and then the air came out of his lungs like she'd hit him. He wanted to stand, to circle the room, to do anything, but he made himself stay very still and try not to show any of the emotion he felt. She was watching him. "When?"

She shrugged, the curl of a frown in one corner of her mouth. She was trying to treat this like any other fact that didn't matter to her, but it did matter. "I was trained to endure torture. To endure anything."

He felt sick. He felt like crying. How had he never realized this had happened? God, she would have been a child. It took everything he had not to react. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she said, seeming to relax as though this had been an inquisition and it was over. "Can I still stay?"

"Yes," he answered, quick and certain.

She nodded once and then turned, picking up her bag off the floor.

* * *

They fell back into their routines easily, training together and even stalking the streets of Bludhaven together on some nights. The same tension was still there, but she was restrained now, not making any moves and he wouldn't dare. After a few days, she climbed into his bed again and he was relieved—like the final signal that they were okay. Her body curled against his back, her forehead between his shoulder blades, and he was certain they both sighed in relief.

A few days later, when he caught her watching him peel off the top of his Nightwing suit after a long night, he paused to stare back. "Do you still want me?" he asked quietly.

Her eyes flared just a little and she turned away, taking the bathroom first. "Yes," she said as she passed but didn't look back or invite him in.

It was such a relief. As though he didn't know. As though he didn't feel her watching him all the time or see the way her fingers twitched sometimes when he walked by—like she wanted to grab him but just managed to stop herself.

He waited until a night when he came home before her. It had been slow in the city, too cold even for crime, he supposed. There were a few nights every winter like that.

He didn't hear her come home, sitting on their bed in the dark, but he heard the little whistle of the violent wind outside slip in the window with her. He heard the bathroom door and the soft sound of her clothes being dropped on the floor. She wasn't the cleanest roommate, but she didn't own enough things to be the messiest either. He listened while she showered. It didn't take long before she walked into their bedroom, wearing his blue tank top again. She'd kept it since that night she took off in it.

She stopped, two steps into he room. The lights were off but the city glowed even in a snow storm, pushing back shadows more than enough for them to see. She looked him over, every naked inch of skin, bruised and scarred and tight with lean muscles. His arms were up, over his head, together inside a curl of black rope attached to the wall near the ceiling. When she studied it he said, "Pull that."

She looked skeptical but came closer. If she tugged that end of the rope, it would pull the knot into place and bind his arms overhead.

"You might be new to wanting, but I'm not," Grayson confessed. Her dark eyes pierced his, studying him, standing beside the bed. "You can have all the control. I don't need it. And if this doesn't work, we can try something else. And if nothing works, well, then I'll watch you and you'll watch me and that will be enough." And he knew he meant it, because being watched by her had been the most intense, sexiest experience of his life.

She pulled the end of rope and his arms came together, muscles testing the hold for her to see that it wouldn't give. Her lips parted, letting out a little exhale that sounded inescapably like a moan in the dark and then she peeled off her top and her panties and slid over him, hands roaming, exploring, teasing until he was writhing under her. The storm outside grew louder, rattling the windows in the frames but all he heard were the little sounds she made, deep in her chest. Her eyes grew glossy in the dark when she finally road him and no matter how crazy she drove him, he didn't dare finish before her.


End file.
